


Long Forgotten Fairytale

by oceaxe



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-31
Updated: 2007-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Draco was exiled to the Muggle World for his own protection, and he's pretty used to it by now. When he starts having unsettling feelings for a new acquaintance, old memories surface, but they make no sense. Who is Harry Black?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Forgotten Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

> AU from canon, insofar as Draco was active on behalf of the Order during the last year of the war, and the final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort goes differently.
> 
> Title cribbed from a Magnetic Fields song. This was written many, many years ago and I'm just now getting around to posting some of my old stuff on this site.

Draco adjusted his earphones and turned up the volume on his minidisc player. _This would be so much easier if I could use my wand_ , went the endless refrain in his head. Over time, though, the refrain was lessening in urgency. He had found much in the Muggle world surprisingly more efficient than magic, so it was becoming increasingly more difficult to fault them for the things that were more cumbersome. Like the simple ability to listen to music in public without disturbing others.

As he climbed onto his preferred elliptical machine, he briefly considered just purchasing exercise equipment for his loft and doing the necessary routines in the comfort of his own home. However, there were advantages to belonging to a gym. The locker room, for example. And the abundant eye-candy out here on the machines. He'd quickly learned it was better not to have liasons with people who went to the same gym, but it didn't mean he couldn't appreciate the view.

That fellow, there, for instance. Definitely Draco's type. Fit, lean, strong legs, beautiful arse. It almost didn't matter what his face looked like. Draco focused on that arse as it flexed and bounced, its owner thumping away on a treadmill. Draco flicked his eyes over to the mirror, mildly curious to see if the man's arse was equaled by his face.

As it so happened, it was. It was the face of a hero; all hard lines and angles, offset by large, gentle-looking eyes. And of course, the requisite dimpled chin. Draco rolled his eyes- the man was practically a caricature of handsomeness. Then he saw the scar running down the man's forehead and reassessed his evaluation. The scar added a rakish appeal that had been lacking, before he'd noticed it. Looking more closely, he noted a wry set to the lips, a sardonic cast to the expression. This man was no bumbling do-gooder.

Draco smiled to himself, looking away. _Developing a little crush, are we?_ He risked another glance, and watched as the man ran his hand through his rather messy, thick black hair. Something about the gesture struck Draco as familiar, but he brushed it off. He'd never seen this man before.

He knew he wanted to see him again, though.

 

* * *

Undressing in the locker room, Draco looked up to see the dark-haired hero walk in. He'd secretly taken to calling him Scarhead, though of course not to his face. He hadn't called him anything to his face, yet. Somehow, weeks of intently watching the bloke work out had made him feel shy about approaching him. Draco had become familiar with his routines, the weight resistances he used, the way his muscles flexed under his skin, the particular expressions his face made when he overexerted himself - _probably the same expression he makes while coming_ \- Draco huffed and cut off his inner monologue.

He'd been studying the man too much, he told himself. He'd developed a false sense of intimacy, which explained the bizarre sensation he'd started to feel whenever he looked at him, as though he knew him from somewhere. But he'd racked his brains trying to think of where and had come up with nothing. The man didn't act like a wizard, but that was not proof that he wasn't. Over the last two years, Draco himself was fairly certain he'd managed to eradicate obvious wizardly tendencies, like reaching for one's wand when entering a dark room, or attempting to summon small objects by putting out one's hand. Nevertheless, it was more likely that this was a Muggle who bore a passing resemblance to someone he'd known, before his exile.

Scarhead put his stuff down in front of a locker across the bench from Draco and began undressing. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, revealing a thin white tank top barely concealing taut, firm abdominal muscles and a chest that begged to be stroked. Draco shook his head and reminded himself to not be so obvious in his ogling as he tied his shoelace.

Except that it was too late - Scarhead had noticed him looking, had caught his eye and was now smiling at him. _Shit_.

"Hi," Draco said, hoping he sounded manly and dismissive and not at all like he was drooling over the other man's body.

"Hello. You work out here a lot, don't you?"

"Erm, yes."

"I've been wondering, do you want to train together? I get more benefits from the gym when I feel like I'm being challenged. You look pretty fit, and I think we lift about the same amount."

Draco willed himself not to get too excited. This was not a sexual proposition. He could detect no note of suppressed lust or concealed agenda in the man's voice or manner, and he was an expert at ferreting out just such motivations in apparently straight men.

"Yeah, I’d like that. I feel like I'm plateauing, anyway." It was true, he'd become bored of his routine and stopped noticing improvements some time ago. His hand wandered to his arse, an area of perennial concern for him. Sure, it looked good now, but the issue was keeping it looking good. He didn't want to hit thirty with a sagging arse. Of course, he was only twenty seven, but that was no reason to get lax.

Draco noticed the other man's eyes tracking his hand's movement towards his rear and immediately stopped. "So, if we're going to train together-" his stomach leapt as the meaning of those words sank in - "I guess I'd better know your name."

Scarhead laughed. "Yeah, that'd make things simpler. The name's Harry. Harry Black."

Draco cocked his head for a second. When the man had said 'Harry,' Draco had expected to hear a different last name. 'Black' seemed wrong, somehow. But clearly, it couldn't be wrong. How paranoid to think that this person was lying to him. _This isn't the wizarding world, anymore, Draco. You're no longer being stalked, or trailed, or attacked. Calm down._

"Nice to meet you, Harry," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Drake Malfoy." Harry looked at his hand with what appeared to be mild alarm, but he reached out and enveloped Draco's slim hand in a firm grip. The briefest flash of an image flitted in Draco's mind, but it was gone before he could tell what it was. Knowing him, his mind was just trying to supply him with sexual fantasies already.

"Nice to meet you, too. What days do you usually work out?"

"I work out most days, so I'm pretty flexible." This brought to mind visions of Harry finding out just how flexible Draco could be. He pushed them aside.

"Great. How about we try for Monday, Wednesday and Friday at noon, and see how that works. You work around here?"

"No, I don't." I don't work, full stop, he failed to add. He didn't think Harry needed to know how much a child of privilege he was, just yet. Besides, he wasn't strictly dependent on inherited funds; he had made some investments and was hoping to make a decent sum on a project he'd put up venture capital funds for. But it still wasn't work like Harry probably thought of work. "Do you?"

"No, I don't work at all, really."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Independently wealthy, then?" He asked before he could stop himself.

"Well, yeah, I guess you could say that. I inherited a lot of money from my parents and godfather, and I've been living off of that while I try to figure out what I'm doing. I volunteer a lot, though. Mostly with old people."

"That's... nice." That's weird, is what Draco wanted to say, but he figured he ought to at least try not to be offensive. "Are you ready? We could work out together today, if you like."

They walked out of the locker room, Draco a few steps behind Harry. He admired the man's arse and had a brief fantasy of lightly sinking his teeth into it. _Careful Draco, we don't want to get ahead of ourselves, do we?_ he cautioned himself, but he knew it was just a matter of time before he had a full-blown sexual obsession with this man. Hopefully he could manage to bed him before his heart got too involved. He might even have to switch gyms, but he figured if he could a couple of fucks out of this outrageously attractive man first, it would be worth it.

Harry gestured towards the bench press and Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "I mostly stick to the machines, Harry."

He received a slightly condescending smile, which made him ache inside, for no good reason. He both wanted to punch the man and snog him breathless. Just from one look! "The machines don't give the same results, they do too much of the work for you."

"It's just, the free weights are so... barbaric," Draco pouted.

"You'll get used to them. I'll spot you."

Draco suddenly grasped the benefits of the free weights.

* * *

Harry stood over him as he lay on the bench, his crotch tantalizingly close to Draco's head. "How much do you usually do on the machine bench press?"

"About 170," Draco lied. It was more like 125, but he was hoping that Harry would have to get him out of a jam. He would blame his inability to press the weight on the same rationale as Harry had used to get him doing free weights - they were more challenging.

Harry put the weights on and showed Draco where to put his hands. "Okay, I'm going to keep my hands on the bar right here, and help you balance and control the weight. Bring your elbows in and fill your belly with air."

Draco felt self-conscious taking orders from someone, but he did as he was told. A little frisson went through him as he realized he rather liked doing as Harry said. Harry lifted the bar out of the rack and Draco took the weight, bringing it down slowly and feeling his arms shake. A light sweat broke out on his forehead as the bar came close to his chest, and he knew he was not going to be able to lift it up again.

"You alright?"

"It's heavier this way," Draco puffed out, willing Harry to rescue him. Harry leaned over and Draco breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with a beautiful, musky scent that went straight to his cock. His hands brushed against Draco's chest as he wrapped them around the bar and started lifting up. Draco pressed as well and knew that he was flushed red. Luckily, though it was partly from arousal, Harry would assume it was embarrassment and exertion. Harry's hands were almost on top of Draco's and a strange image flashed in Draco's mind, of a much younger version of himself holding out his hand to a scruffy-looking black-haired urchin. It was an indistinct image, and was gone almost instantly. It seemed somehow to be connected to Harry, but that didn't make any sense.

"Sorry," Draco said, "I guess I'll have to revise my estimates of what I can take."

"Oh, I think you could probably take a lot," Harry smiled down at him, and Draco's guts squirmed pleasantly. Yes, the man was definitely flirting with him. It was lighthearted and easy to brush off, if he wanted, but it was there all the same. "We'll just have to get you properly trained."

And so, Draco Malfoy's education in free weights began. As did his education in Harry Black, though those lessons were more confusing. He realized that spotting entailed some touching between spotter and spottee, and he also realized that Harry might be coming on to him, in a languid kind of no-pressure way, but the touching was sort of non-stop. Harry's arm would brush against his, or his hand would press against Draco's, or he'd stand so close behind him that his thighs were rubbing against the top of Draco's head. Every so often, during or just after contact with Harry, strange little fragments of images would flit through Draco's mind, completely unrelated to what was happening around him yet oddly familiar.

It had happened again today, when they were walking back to the locker room. He'd held the door open for Harry, and Harry had put his hand on Draco's back as he walked by, a sort of gesture of thanks. Draco had been momentarily disoriented by a sudden image of himself roughly pushing past a dark-haired man, where or when he couldn't tell. The image was rather like a memory in that it had emotional content, but the emotions were so confused it was hard to pinpoint them.

Something about the man in the vision had been awfully familiar. Draco suddenly wondered if he really did know Harry from somewhere. Had be hooked up with him at a bar, late one whiskey-soaked night? It would be embarrassing if this were the case, but understandable. He knew he was suave enough to play it off; it would be better to ask and know than to keep having these annoying almost-memories assaulting him and throwing him off guard.

He shook himself out of his reverie and followed Harry into the locker room, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Why do I have this feeling that we know each other?" Draco asked, as he tugged down his shorts.

Harry gave him an uncertain look, then turned to his locker. "We went to school together," he said over his shoulder.

"We what?"

"We, er, went to school together. I'm a wizard," he added, in a hushed tone.

"Well, obviously! Why didn't you say?" His voice sounded strained to his own ears. Draco was starting to get paranoid, and he knew he acted like a twit when he got paranoid. He attempted to calm himself down.

"Erm, you didn't seem to remember me and I didn't want to… I guess I was embarrassed. Besides, we weren't friends in school or anything. I didn't want to bring up the past when the present was going so well."

"But surely you could have told me you were a wizard."

"I thought you knew," Harry said, sheepishly.

"How would I have known?"

"Well, I... I don't know. I can usually tell. Oh, here's your water bottle." Harry handed it back to him, and his fingertips grazed against Draco's.

Draco forgot to be insulted by this apparent disparity in their relative perceptiveness because things were trickling back to him. Images flickered past his mind's eye - a scraggly young man holding back another boy - Weasley? - and Draco sneering at them. A group of students giggling as a bespectacled boy walked past.

"Now I remember you. You were that annoying git who got all the attention... why was that, again? Oh yeah, 'Harry Potter.' You did look like him, you know. Bit of a disappointment when you dropped off the face of the earth after school and failed to save us from the evil wizard."

It was all coming back to him, now. Harry Black had just been a stuck-up little prat who'd capitalized on his resemblance to the hero of a popular series of children's books. Draco had never been able to understand why people had made such a big deal out of him. His only real talent had been Quidditch.

"Why do you think I live in the Muggle world? People wouldn't let it go, I didn't want to spend the rest of my life being confused with 'The Chosen One.'"

"I guess that makes sense. After all, I left because I didn't want to spend the rest of my life being confused with my father. I assume you're aware of his... legacy?"

Harry gave him a bland look. "I know the name and what he was convicted of. Trust me, I will not blame the sins of the father on the son," he said softly.

"That's big of you," Draco said wryly, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Despite the physical attractiveness of the other man, he had a definite urge to flee. "Well, I'd love to stay and reminisce about old school days, but I've got a meeting in about twenty minutes. Better shower up and get a move on."

Harry nodded, looking a bit disappointed. "See you on Wednesday?"

"Sounds good," Draco said, lightly.

Wednesday came and went, and Draco did not go to the gym. He worked out on Thursday instead, wondering why he was avoiding Harry. On the one hand, it was more than a little creepy that Harry hadn't immediately pointed out that they'd gone to school together. On the other, he supposed it was rather embarrassing for both of them that he hadn't remembered Harry Black, and it was entirely possible that the other man had just been trying to be polite. Draco remembered the way Harry had smelled the other day, leaning over him and spotting his lift. He decided to shake off this niggling feeling of strangeness and join Harry at the gym tomorrow.

* * *

"Held up at a meeting yesterday?" Harry asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I meant to leave a note for you, but everything was so chaotic, I just forgot," Draco lied, relieved that Harry had made up an excuse for him. His skin burned with awareness of the other bloke's nearness. Creepy nondisclosure or not, perhaps these workout sessions were still a bad idea. Draco was used to feeling fleeting lust for a new conquest, but this lingering, building crescendo of desire was worrying.  
"I was thinking we'd concentrate on core muscles today, if that's okay," Harry said, absently rubbing his stomach. Draco bit his lip and looked away. He should just ask the guy out for drinks, this was getting silly.

"Sounds good. I could stand to tighten up down there. Too much take-out, you know what I mean?" Draco laughed, pretending a self-consciousness he didn't really feel. Not at the moment, anyway.

"I don't know, you look pretty firm there to me," Harry said nonchalantly. Instantly Draco felt genuinely self-conscious.

"Always room for improvement, though, right? What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I'm usually opposed to machines, but in this case there is a fantastic crunch machine here. Ever used it?" Harry asked as he walked out the door to the main gym.

"No, but I think I know what you're talking about," he replied, following Harry.

They found the crunch machine and Harry gestured for Draco to get on it. He complied, again feeling that strange warmth that came over him whenever he did as Harry said. It felt like submitting to a rival for some reason, and for some reason Draco found it arousing. He blinked in exasperation with himself. 

Harry leaned over him as he rested on his back in the machine. "I don't know what you know about core exercises- though like I said, it doesn't look like you're doing too bad a job." He gave Draco's abs an appraising look that had Draco suddenly thinking about house-elves in flagrante delicto - anything to stop his cock from getting hard while he was lying on his back in front of Harry, not to mention the rest of the gym. "But you can work the core muscles every day and not suffer ill effects. Not like working your arms every day. Okay, is this enough weight, you think?"

"How would I know? I haven't tried it yet," Draco replied, frowning. "Maybe another ten kilos." Harry raised an eyebrow and put on the weights.

"Okay, in order for this to work right you've got to pull in your stomach as tight as you can before you start the rep." Harry punctuated this instruction by pressing down on Draco's midsection and the world almost went black for a moment with unprovoked, unreasoning rage.

A swirl of images assaulted him- he was saying nasty things about someone's mother, and suddenly he was being punched in the stomach, and then everywhere by a vicious flurry of fists, humiliation and fear warring inside him. He wanted to recoil from Harry's touch, but that was absurd because the whole point of working out with Harry was to keep these casual touches going, to interpret them, to see if they could lead somewhere else. But now he felt nearly sick, and it was somehow connected to Harry's hand on his stomach.

"I've got it, Harry," he snapped. "Just let me do the reps." Harry flinched away with an offended look on his face, but Draco was so upset and confused he couldn't really assimilate the information.

He did just enough reps to save face, then rolled off the machine and onto his feet in one smooth movement, continuing the momentum away from the machine and toward the locker room. "Sorry, Harry," he muttered, knowing he was making a mess of things but unable to stay in the other's presence. "Just remembered, I've got a meeting I'm going to be late for. We'll have to reschedule." He barely registered Harry's disappointed expression before he made into the locker room.

He felt out of breath, which was stupid because he'd hardly worked out at all. After splashing some water on his face, he braced his hands against the sink and looked into the mirror. A few drops of water ran down his cheek, and another image superimposed itself on top of his face: himself, younger and haggard. He remembered all too well crying in that bathroom, confiding his terrible dilemma to that awful ghost. Not one of his finer moments.

A movement in the mirror caught his eye. Harry was standing near the lockers, watching him. Draco felt a jolt all through him- had Harry caught him like this at school, too? Impossible, and yet a fuzzy memory tugged so hard at the fabric of his mind it was almost painful. He straightened and marched into a toilet stall, gathering himself while he pissed a pathetic little trickle. When he came out, still shaken but hopefully not visibly so, Harry was gone.

* * *

Something was decidedly off about his memories of Harry. Draco concluded that he must have disliked him as a boy, much more than he initially remembered- or perhaps 'hated' would be the right word. Paranoia flooded him again. He wasn't sure why he was so slow in remembering the bad blood he'd apparently had with this person, and it was making him very nervous about Harry's motivations in offering to work out with him. Against his better judgment, he was beginning to think it might all be a big set-up to settle a score from schooldays.

He was supposed to meet Harry at the gym today, but given the way their previous session went, he couldn't bring himself to go, nor did he think it was necessary to inform Harry that he would not be able to be there. Surely Harry had sensed something strange between the two of them. Surely Draco wouldn't have to spell it out for him. Discretion was the better part of valor, in Draco's eyes, at least.

Draco looked at his watch and restlessly paced around his apartment for the seventieth time since noon. He and Harry rarely worked out for more than an hour and a half, so he judged that if he arrived at the gym by four he would be well safe of any accidental encounters with his disturbing ex-classmate.

Four o'clock rolled around after a seeming eternity, and Draco Apparated to a discrete alleyway by the health club. He glanced around nervously, then told himself firmly that he was being childish and strode into the gym looking straight ahead.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Draco turned and raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "You have a note here, from another patron."

He stepped forward and took the note from the gym employee. On the front, it was addressed to Drake, but that was in quotation marks.

Draco-

If your schedule has changed, I can change mine, as well. My volunteer appointments are flexible.

H.

 _Oh damn him. He's going to force a confrontation, isn't he?_ Draco looked around and then leaned over the counter to get the employee's attention. "Pardon me. Would you have a piece of paper and a pen? I'd like to leave a reply to the person who left me this," he said as he brandished the note.

Harry-

I'm sorry to inform you that I've decided to take an extended holiday, and I'm canceling my gym membership as I've no idea when I'll be back. Best of luck to you. Thanks for the tips on free weights.

D.M.

The blatant lie made him feel uncharacteristically soiled, but he handed the note over to the man waiting expectantly behind the counter. "And by the way, I've decided to cancel my membership here," he said.

The man made a moue of disappointment. "Were the facilities not to your liking, sir?"

"No, no- they're excellent. I'm just... I've got... " Damn it, why was he so flustered? "I'm taking a leave of absence."

"Oh, then, if it's just that, sir, we can put your membership on hold and you can resume when you get back!" The man appeared very pleased to be offering this option. Draco saw no way that he could decline.

"Oh. Well, that's ... that's wonderful. Yes. I'll just inform you when I...return." Of course, the little man at the desk needn't know he would not be returning.

As Draco walked out the doors, he realized that there was no reason not to make his little lie the truth. He was tired of London, tired of Muggles. His exile prevented him from doing magic in front of them, or from living amongst wizards, but there was no proscription against him visiting the little Wizarding colonies in the Caribbean for a month or two.

* * *

Azure water and lush foliage were all well and good, and it had been nice to be amongst wizards again, even if they were backwards and poor and had no culture. But Draco had had his fill of the tropical life surprisingly quickly. For one thing, he'd not been able to detect even one gay wizard in any of the resorts he'd been to. Maybe his gaydar was off, he mused, smiling wryly. "Gaydar" was a singularly useful Muggle term, even though he wasn't quite sure what the "dar" stood for. All he knew was, he could normally find a willing wizard without breaking a sweat, but for some reason he'd come up dry here.

A scant three weeks had passed, but Draco was ready for home.

* * *

He knew it was a terrible idea to go back to the club, but he just found himself too lazy to search for another gym. Hoping that Harry had kept to the schedule they'd established when they made their arrangement, Draco decided that he could go on Thursdays, Saturdays and Tuesdays.

The man at the desk looked a little bit concerned to see him, and then visibly put on his professional arse-kissing face. "Mr. Malfoy," he said, eyes darting to the left. "Welcome back, sir. I've kept your locker available for you."

All too slowly, Draco registered the identity of the person at the end of the counter.

"That wasn't much of an extended absence," Harry said mildly as he turned towards Draco, but his eyes sparked with something that looked a lot like anger.

"Wasn't much of a resort," he replied, feeling defensive for absolutely no good reason.

"I get the feeling you're avoiding me," Harry said, quite obviously trying to keep his tone cool.

"By taking a holiday? Harry, people take holidays. It happens. It's nothing personal." It was a palpable lie and he could feel Harry assessing it as such.

"Is this about school? I know we didn't get along, but I was hoping we could move past it."

"I don't really remember much of that, actually." Draco could hear in his voice that it sounded like he was accusing Harry, as if his poor memory was the other man's fault. It made him feel even more off-kilter and wrong-footed. He continued to make his excuses with an increasingly dry mouth. "And even if I did, I'm not trying to avoid you. I've just been busy with work."

"And on holiday."

"...Yes." Fuck.

There was a tremendously awkward silence, during which Draco attempted to meet Harry's gaze but found that his eyes kept sliding away to focus on the counter.

Harry took a deep breath, and Draco braced himself for a lecture on what a cowardly, rude lying piece shit he was.

"I like you, Drake. I think if you got to know me, you'd like me too. Please... let me take you out to dinner." 

Draco was sure he must have misheard - had Harry just asked him out?

Harry reached out to put his hand on Draco's and instead of the instinctive recoil he expected, he experienced a profound pull towards the other man, combined with a strong feeling of desire and longing. His mind offered him another brief flash of memory: watching Harry in the showers, beating off over him. Nightmares turned into wet dreams, always because a certain black-haired boy had appeared in them. So that's why he'd blocked out memories of Harry Black. He'd been too ashamed of having a crush on a Gryffindor, a boy, a half-blood. Things were starting to come clear.

Given everything he'd learned about himself and the world in general since those days of self-loathing, his attitudes regarding Harry's sex and parentage seemed ridiculous.

Draco felt like someone had cast a Cheering Charm on him, or slipped him some Ecstasy. How on earth could he have forgotten that boy, the one to awaken him to his own desires? More importantly, how could he say 'no' to the gorgeous man he'd become? Harry Black wanted to take him out to dinner. So be it. He took a deep breath.

"Alright," he said, smiling uncertainly.

 

* * *

"So," said Draco as they seated themselves at the table, "been keeping busy? With the, er, old people?" Damn it, what were they supposed to talk about?

"Yes, I've been gathering stories from elderly people about their lives, their history and upbringing and relationships."

"What are you going to do with them?"

"I've been thinking of using them as a window into the Muggle world, putting their memories in context with history, both Muggle and wizard. I think it's important for wizards to understand that, despite the lack of magic, there are a lot of experiences that we've all had, that are… universal, I guess." Harry looked at him, uncertainly, as though Draco might suddenly fly off into a rant on the importance of segregation and pureblood supremacy.

"That sounds fascinating. I've lived in the Muggle world for two years, and I've reached similar conclusions. My youth was misspent and my future ... limited, based on ignorance." He smiled at the surprise on Harry's face. "You're thinking about my father, aren't you?"

"Well, to be honest, yes."

"What did you do during the war?"

"I... did some undercover work with the Order. I can't really say more than that."

"Really?" Draco felt slightly offended - after all, the war was over, the bad guys lost, and besides, he'd lived at the Order's headquarters for a time and he didn't remember seeing Harry there. His mission couldn't have been that important.

Harry looked uncomfortable. "I would tell you, but... honestly I don't really - it's hard to talk about. Maybe later."

"Sure, I understand. I'm glad to know you participated, though - too many bowed out."

"That's true."

Okay, it was time to address the oliphant in the drawing room. "I'm sure you know about my involvement with the Headmaster's death. The reason for the exile. There was a time when I planned to go into hiding, but instead I too went to the Order. My memories of the war are quite fuzzy, I assume because I was obliviated repeatedly after delivering fake information to the other side. But even though the Ministry decided my earlier crimes merited permanent exile from the Wizarding world, I can assure you that I, so to speak, redeemed myself. It's a matter of public record, if you can manage to bribe the archivists to find something without a court warrant." He paused a moment to catch his breath; he'd never had to justify himself to an old schoolmate for the simple reason that since the trial he'd not run into one. It was an unpleasant experience.

"It's okay, Draco. I believe you," Harry said. They sat in silence for a long time. Eventually a waiter came to take their order, and Harry straightened up in his seat to address him.

* * *

The silence between them grew charged as they picked at their food. Draco couldn't think of what to say to this person who he'd evidently wanted so much back in school, but with whom he otherwise had no history. They hadn't shared a lot of personal information while working out together. Other than discussing workout and training techniques, their conversation had touched on current events and culture, and even that was limited to the most banal observations.

Draco tried to focus on not getting his spaghetti carbonara all over his linen shirt, but he kept glancing up to see Harry glancing up at him with a strangely familiar heat in his eyes before returning them to his plate. This had happened several times before he realized Harry had stopped eating and was staring at Draco with patent lust in his expression. Draco had to fight down a blush - his sudden erection he didn't bother to restrain.

"I'm not hungry any more," Harry said as he put his napkin on his plate. "At least, not for this. What do you think?"

Draco pushed his plate away and said, "What did you have in mind?"

Harry leaned across the table. "I want... I want you, Drake. Draco. I want to get to know you better." He paused, then looked directly into Draco's eyes. There was a challenge in them, as well as fear. "I want you to get to know me."

"I want that too," Draco said, more huskily than he'd intended. Harry's smile was surprisingly sweet, though it had a tinge of leer in it.

"Your place, then?" Harry said as he stood and threw some money on the table. Draco nodded, and they nearly ran out of the restaurant. Harry's hands were working their way into Draco’s trousers by the time they Side-Along-Apparated into his living room, but he didn't think the dossers in the alleyway had taken any notice. The insistent, almost suffocating heat between them left no room for politeness, anyway.

Once in Draco's home, Harry attached himself to Draco's neck with a will, causing Draco to go breathless and claw at Harry’s gorgeous arse. Harry broke off to ask, "The bedroom?" Draco took him by the wrist and dragged him down the hall into the large, white room.

Harry stripped off and approached Draco, but when Draco's hands went to his buttons, he found them stilled. "Let me," Harry whispered, and Draco was disinclined to put up a fight. He undid the buttons slowly, kissing each inch of exposed flesh. When he'd undone the shirt completely, he took a step back and raked his gaze over Draco's chest. "Perfect," he growled, and Draco glanced down at his torso and the faint scar across it that he could never remember acquiring - he assumed it had happened during a particularly vicious Quidditch match. He thought his chest left much to be desired; it certainly wasn't as muscular as Harry's, but if Harry liked it then he wasn't about to question that.

Harry closed the distance between them with a soft moan that increased Draco's arousal past the point of endurance. "I've wanted this for so long," he muttered as his hands began to work the fastenings on Draco's trousers. Draco thought it was a bit odd to call three months "so long," but when Harry managed to dispose of both his trousers and his pants and wrap his fist around Draco's by-now desperately hard cock, Draco's critical faculties shut down.

It felt so familiar, so right, to have Harry touching him like this. Old fantasies flashed across his mind's eye- he'd spent a lot of time imagining just how this would feel. It was like he could predict exactly what Harry would do next; he would kneel down, and take just the head of his prick into his beautiful mouth. Yes, just like that. Then he would grip the base and press his tongue against the underside, licking firmly up and down until Draco's hips were bucking towards him, urging him to swallow the whole thing. Yes.

By the time Harry took Draco all the way in to the hilt, Draco was helplessly thrusting into Harry's mouth, oblivious to the other man’s possible discomfort. The sounds Harry was making, though, assured him that he was enjoying it every bit as much as Draco was. His climax came upon him so strongly that he felt echoes of it in every nerve for long moments afterwards. Eventually, he opened his eyes and looked wonderingly down at the man kneeling at his feet.

"You're still hard," Draco pointed out unnecessarily. Harry grinned at him.

"You're still hot, and I still have to fuck you," he explained. Draco shuddered with anticipation and laid himself down on the bed, reaching for the lube. He knew he was blushing, which was absurd, but something about Harry made him feel as shy as he had his first time. He lay on his stomach and opened the bottle, squeezing some into his hand. Harry grabbed his wrist and scooped the lube out of his hand, turning him over onto his back and slathering the slick substance onto his own cock. Then he took the bottle and tossed it aside, muttering, "Lubricio" with his fingers at Draco's entrance. It had been so long since Draco had had sex with a wizard that he'd nearly forgotten how much better the spell was than the oily Muggle lubrication. The tingling sensation inside him revived his flagging erection and he gasped.

"I want to see your face when you come, this time," Harry said as his finger worked its way into Draco's twitching hole. "Ahhhh- alright," Draco breathed, eyes closing against his will. He lost all sense of time as Harry thrust his fingers in and out, stretching and preparing him. That sensation alone was almost enough to make Draco come again. He opened his eyes when he felt Harry shifting above him, and saw the look his eyes as his cock pressed against the twitching flesh of Draco's arsehole. Draco nodded, encouraging him wordlessly to slide in.

Harry's cock moved like it belonged inside of Draco, as though it couldn't possibly fit as well anywhere else. Draco threw back his head and keened, barely hearing Harry's harsh breaths as he restrained himself from moving. "Fuck- fuck me, Harry," Draco panted, and Harry complied with a grunt.

It was like a dream he'd had dozens of times. Draco's hands clutched the sheets as his hips bucked up to meet Harry's thrusts, rutting against him, and everything felt so good, so right, so familiar. Intense de ja vu swept over him, and he saw himself and Harry doing this, in exactly the same way - with such clarity. Not a fantasy. A memory. Their first time. But this was - oh god, so good. Their first time- no. No. It wasn't. Harry was about to come, Draco recognized the signs: the clenched jaw, the brow furrowed in concentration - And there it was- just like it had been, Harry shuddering and jerking against him, his head thrown back and neck straining.

In an instant, Draco knew the truth. But it couldn't be.

But it was.

He pushed Harry off of him and scrambled out of the bed. He turned to gape at the man in his bed, black hair, green eyes. He didn't just look like the boy in those books. He was that boy. That man. Harry stared back at him, his expression blank but his body tense.

"You - you are Harry Potter," Draco managed. He couldn't believe his own words. It was like accusing someone of being Marvin the Mad Muggle, except that Harry Potter was apparently real. And in his bed.

"Harry Potter - those books - they're true, aren't they?" He fervently hoped that Harry would tell him that he was being psychotic, or that he'd slipped him a mickey in the restaurant and he was hallucinating. Anything would be better than this.

More memories, clearer memories... real memories assaulted him. He really had hated Harry; they had been involved in a rivalry that nearly turned deadly. Harry had almost killed him. He'd put Draco's father in prison.

Harry grimaced. "They're... sort of true. In the general outline, if not the particulars."

"But how?” Draco didn't understand this, if the books were true- he'd read them when he was kid, how could they predict true events, even generally? No seer was that good. Perhaps there had been an accident with a Time Turner?

"They were written after the fact. This is a long story. Do you want me to tell it now, or can we wait til morning?"

Draco laughed, a touch hysterically. "You're going to tell it now, or I'm going to kill you."

"Okay," Harry said, looking disappointed. "Well, perhaps we should make some coffee."

"Done." Draco marched off to the kitchen, still feeling like he was in a dream. It truly must be a dream. Rather an inventive one, for him, but - No. It wasn't. In a dream he wouldn't be able to feel the grit of the kitchen floor beneath his feet. Sometimes he really missed having house-elves, he thought irrelevantly. He banged around the kitchen, getting the coffee brewing, and waited for Harry.

Potter.

Harry Potter.

He didn't want to go back in the bedroom and face that beautiful, naked man who had abruptly turned his life upside down. Apparently, in light of all these new memories, that was what Harry Potter did for Draco Malfoy. "Get out here! I'm not bringing the coffee to you!" he yelled out, harshly.

Harry thudded into the kitchen, wearing his briefs and nothing else. There was a faint scar on his right hip that he hadn't noticed in the heat of the moment. Draco was slammed by the re-emergence of another set of memories.

He and Harry had been lovers; they hadn't just had sex. They'd been together. But Harry had gone off to vanquish evil in the final battle and had never thereafter acknowledged what had happened between them. In fact, he'd ignored him completely. And Draco had been almost suicidally depressed, for months. Harry had testified for him at the trial, but hadn't even looked his way.

Draco gasped. And then he felt himself falling down, but the world was dimming and he felt vaguely thankful that he wasn't going to have to deal with it for awhile.

He woke up to Harry leaning over him, with a damp cloth on his forehead. He swiped it off of himself, disgusted.

"I don't have a fever, Potter," he sneered, stressing the last name viciously, "I fainted. God, you are still an idiot, aren't you?"

"More of an idiot than ever," he muttered under his breath. "Look, I need to explain all this to you, so-"

"Damned right you do. You're not leaving until I know exactly what the fuck is going on here."

"So. The war," Harry began lamely. "You know, in those Potter books, how Harry was the Chosen One?"

"Yes, Harry, I remember. I'm also remembering the actual facts." He rubbed his head, glaring at the shaken man at his side. "It's fuzzy, but I remember. You were the one that had to kill Voldemort. The prophecy. Have you forgotten what side I was on, at the beginning? He wouldn't shut up about it." Oh fuck, this was dredging up all kinds of other memories Draco had thought laid to rest, albeit unpeaceably.

"Do you remember - well, no, you wouldn't. I never told you. Look, Draco, this is going to be hard to hear. The war was so grueling, what I had to- to do, in the end."

His voice choked up, and if Draco hadn't been feeling as hateful as he was at the moment, he would have been moved to comfort him.

"I watched Fred. I couldn't save him, it was too late, Lestrange had already cast the spell- I watched his blood run out. And then Remus..." Harry trailed off and started to shake, soft sobs catching in his throat. But as Draco reached out to touch his arm, he pulled himself together.

"I can't tell you everything about the last battle. You saw some of it, but before- things happened. Things I didn't want to relive it every day of my life. In fact, I wanted to forget the Wizarding world forever." Harry took a deep, shuddering breath and opened his mouth to speak again, but nothing came out.

"But instead, you made the Wizarding world forget you," Draco whispered, oddly certain that he was right.

Harry gaped. "How did you figure that out?"

"Given what's been happening to me, it's like I'm slowly recovering from a badly cast Obliviate," Draco said, astounded that he could sound so matter-of-fact.

"You're - well, you're right. In a nutshell, that's what we did. Hermione, Ron and I planned a way to make the entire Wizarding World forget about the role I played. To most people, 'Harry Potter' was a myth, and I thought it fitting that he should literally become so. Just a myth, a fun story about a kid who has dangerous adventures, nothing more. I could go live my life in peace."

"But how did you do it?" Draco asked weakly, feeling like his world was disintegrating and being rebuilt.

"It was a complex spell that Hermione invented. Ron arranged the logistics of it. And I supplied the power. You remember that huge celebration a year after the war? I wasn't there, not where people could see me, anyway. I was holed up for most of the year in Grimmauld Place, slowly losing my mind and waiting until the spell could be performed. The official word was that I was in an undisclosed location, recuperating with friends and Order members."

"But not with me."

"Not with you. Draco, I'll get to that. Please, I never wanted to hurt you."

"Go on," Draco said, voice flat and cold, tears stinging his eyes.

"You were basically right about the spell. It was a very carefully designed, transmissible Obliviate. We planned to cast it at the first annual Victory Over Voldemort celebration; nearly all of Wizarding Europe was there, and of those who weren't, most would have contact with the exposed within 48 hours of casting. One can't be under an active Obliviate for longer than that, otherwise there's permanent damage. Of course, there were people who never got exposed to the spell -"

"The Potter Lives conspiracy theorists," Draco broke in. "I guess they weren't such nutters after all." Harry shook his head.

As Harry talked, it all took shape in Draco's mind. How brilliant. After all, most of the events in the war that the public knew about had nothing to do with Harry. He could still access how his altered memory had explained public records and interviews with "Harry Potter." They were remembered as a pleasant distraction from the war. It had been a bit of fun, everyone now thought, to pretend that Harry Potter was real, would save them. It had boosted morale.

"What about those books?"

"They helped explain residual memories about me that people were bound to have, especially people I'd gone to school with. We hired a Muggle writer to chronicle my years at Hogwarts, but had her heavily fictionalize it, changing names and altering events significantly. It was close enough to the truth to explain what most people would remember about my "adventures" without giving away information to the other side that would be helpful. We gave it a publication date ten years in the past and while everyone was at the victory celebration, we had liberated house-elves sneak copies into the libraries and bookshelves of most of the wizards in Britain. The spell included a false memory of the books."

Draco nodded, the thrill of having a mystery solved momentarily overcoming his outrage. "I always thought it was weird that I remembered the contents of the books but never remembered actually reading them."

"I worked so far under cover during the actual war that no one really knew what I was up to. Also, there had been only a few witnesses to the final victory over Voldemort, and all of those that survived were in on the plan to erase me from the Wizarding world.

"There were a few who had closer involvement with the events of the war, but who I didn't want remembering me, and they, sadly, had to have their memories altered a bit more invasively than the general spell could accomplish." He didn't look like he particularly regretted this.

"Who?"

"Scrimgeour, Percy Weasley, Umbridge. For instance. Mostly Ministry employees."

Harry fell silent as though he had run out of steam. It could have been that he was just tired; it was four in the morning after all, and Harry had just come in Draco's arse. It suddenly struck him that he'd been fucked through the mattress by Harry Potter. It was totally surreal.

"So why do I suddenly remember everything?" Draco asked, before he could too overwhelmed by the situation.

Harry shifted on the bed and looked towards the door. "The weakness of the spell is that if I have too much physical contact, or even just prolonged physical proximity to someone, they'll start to recover their memory. As it turns out, the fastest way to get someone to remember is to have sex with them."

Draco said nothing for a while, gazing sightlessly around the room and waiting for his subconscious to figure out what question to ask next.

"Wait a second," he said, though Harry had stopped talking several seconds ago. "So you knew it was all going to come back to me when we fucked. Didn't you?" He didn't wait for an answer before he plowed on. "You knew I went to that gym. You made this happen." He stamped down hard on the hope flaring in his chest.

"I never stopped thinking about you, Draco. I tried to forget you, for years, but it just wasn't working."

Draco's mind whirled in a haze. This was all too much, too fast. The memories were crowding his brain and he couldn't place them in order, didn't know how to put them in context.

"But you left me behind. You could have - it was more important to you to - just leave, to leave me?" The year after Voldemort's defeat welled up in him - those sleeplessness nights, the misery, the searing loneliness.

"Draco, I couldn't live my life under constant scrutiny anymore. When I thought about what the press would do to me, and to us if they'd found out about our relationship, I just couldn't face it. I'm sorry. You know I'm not quite right in the head, don't you?" He smiled crookedly at Draco, clearly appealing for sympathy.

"Fuck you! You think I have sympathy for you? You left me - I thought you hated me! For a year, Harry! I lost weight, I couldn't sleep- " Draco paused to catch his breath, noting with satisfaction that Harry looked exceedingly guilty and miserable.

"In fact, it was something of miracle one day when I finally pulled myself together. Of course, up until now I thought I was just depressed because of the war, but now I know the real reason why I'd been such a mess. And I guess I know what the 'miracle' was. I was probably better off, not knowing about you, did you ever think of that? Fuck!"

"You - oh god, it hurt me too. I can't even describe-" Draco made a face of extreme derision and disbelief and Harry nodded resignedly. "I know, I know- at least I knew what was going on."

"Why did you have to cut me off so coldly?" The memory of their final encounter lanced through him. He had gone up to Harry, prepared to put everything on the line, and Harry had just looked straight through him as though he hadn't existed.

Harry stared at a corner of the bedsheet, frowning. "Because I knew what I was going to do, and I needed to start distancing myself from people I cared about. I was going to make you forget me, I didn't want... I see now that it was incredibly selfish, but I didn't want to be attached to you and see blankness in your eyes when you saw me."

Draco got out of bed, away from the body he desperately wanted to be close to and the man he wanted to console. There was a burning anger in his chest, blooming and spreading like a cancer inside him.

"I don't know if I can forgive you. I think you should leave now."

Harry just sat in the bed, staring at the rumpled sheets. "I know that you'll need time."

Draco snorted. Harry continued, ignoring this.

"Could you just... just promise me, you'll think about it? About us?" Draco tried not the hear the terrible vulnerability in Harry's voice. He stood by his dresser, watching Harry out of the corner of his eye, while a thousand possible responses flew through his head. In the end, none of them proved adequate, so he remained silent.

He closed his eyes when Harry rose from the bed, and listened to him put his clothes on. Another memory rushed in, of Harry putting on his clothes after the first time they had sex. "If you... if you want to talk, you can reach me here," Harry said quietly as he scribbled something on a piece of paper.

The anger that had been filling Draco up bled away, and he felt insubstantial in its absence. He opened his mouth, to say he knew not what, but the crack of Apparition told him that Harry had left.

The ball was in his court, he supposed. What to do with years of memories suddenly returned to you? They were all jumbled up - he couldn't sort out which events had happened first, or exactly how Harry and he had put aside their hatred and started a relationship.

And aside from the confusion surrounding the personal memories, there was the fact of Harry Potter's objective reality to deal with. Draco decided it was too early in the morning to start trying to make sense of it all and lay back on the bed, smelling Harry's scent on the bedsheets. The scent was so familiar, so redolent of times spent in each other's arms, between each other's legs, breathing the same air - Draco closed his eyes and sighed. He didn't really have a choice.

He and Harry belonged together. They always would. He smiled into the bedsheets, in spite of the painful memories and in spite of his current anger and confusion. Underneath it all was a growing conviction of the inevitability of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

No matter what happened, the two of them were meant to be. It was like a long-forgotten fairytale, a book you'd thought lost forever and barely remembered. When you picked it up to read it you realized it had been part of you all along.


End file.
